


Stranded

by snowyfoxpaws



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dom/sub, M/M, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1736408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowyfoxpaws/pseuds/snowyfoxpaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England was an omega.</p><p>It fell upon America like an anvil in a cartoon, his mind positively reeling at the realization because suddenly so much made sense and yet so much more didn't. His world had been turned completely on its head because his stodgy, beta guardian with an inexplicable temper was, in actuality, a very cunning omega and the fact that no one knew baffled the younger country like nothing else ever had before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on tumblr](http://snowyfoxpaws.tumblr.com/post/86879879787/stranded-1).

England was an omega.

It fell upon America like an anvil in a cartoon, his mind positively reeling at the realization because suddenly  _so much_  made sense and yet  _so much more_  didn't. His world had been turned completely on its head because his stodgy, beta guardian with an inexplicable temper was, in actuality, a very cunning omega and the fact that  _no one knew_  baffled the younger country like nothing else ever had before.

Because it would be  _impossible_  for anyone else to  _know_  and not react to him accordingly, neutral, sanitary beta smell or not. If you  _knew_ , that was that. Sure, betas were the majority among both humans and nations, but the few omegas that there were, were well taken care of by alphas— some even mated off, despite their status as nations! You couldn't control the nature of a nation like you could its politics and, admittedly, that could get a little messy, but that didn't change the fact that  _all this time_  England had hidden himself and not a one of them had been the wiser.

This man had been an empire!

And he was an  _omega_.

There was nothing else he could be. It was seeping through, little by little, and no matter  _how_  the other male had tried to avoid him, that didn't change the fact that America had snagged his arm in a sudden motion and England had glanced back at him and then a scent that he didn't know hit him and—

Everything clicked into place, like a puzzle.

Everything. The mothering when America was younger. The frustration with his own inability to cook. The secrecy. The  _pushing everyone away and keeping them at an arm’s length_.

They’d ended up stranded out in the great plains during one of the most humid and hot summers America had had in a long time and, while it was only a four or so day walk to the nearest city, it was only just the end of the first day and there was nothing, nothing,  _nothing_  for miles…

And England was an _omega_. It was rolling off of him in waves, trickling into beads of perspiration and lighting into the air, thick and sweet.

This realization brought with it a great deal of conflict for America. Namely that, all of a sudden, he noticed so many little  _warning_  signs. England was too thin, England was too uptight and tense, England was never acting his type, but most of all…

England was an  _omega_  whom was nearly soaked through with sweat and, but five minutes ago, America hadn't cared overly much, but now—  _now_  alarm was roaring up in his mind like a fire and he swallowed as a world of change swept through him, reflected back in those painfully wide, emerald eyes.

"America— I can explain." England said. He wasn’t lying, but…

… but it was so very  _surreal_  to realize that all these years the very fake beta scent he’d obviously been using was masking all of— 

All of  _this_.

The hesitation, the fear, the nervousness, and, worst of all, the  _need_ —

The need to be held and looked after, the need to be noticed, the need to be praised, the need to be coddled, the need to loved, the need to be fed, the need to be spoken softly to…

It made a torrent of pain slice open America’s chest and he could have choked on all of it, yet, if England noticed his own emotions, he didn't make a single mention of it.

"S- see, this is just how things are, you know? I’m a strong country. I can’t be a— I can’t indulge in that sort of— well, you know—…" England was stammering now.  _The omega_  was fumbling for something to prove that his years of suffering in silence was worth it all.

It hurt.

Christ almighty,  _it hurt_.

America’s alpha instincts were so completely twisted in on themselves that he simply couldn't even piece out what he should do first, because learning that your shameful little crush on a  _beta_  was actually a very natural attraction to what was really an  _omega_  left him without words.

"How…?" And then he breathed that one sound, his voice low and rough in a way he hadn't quite heard it before. It must have had something to do with dominance, however, because England marveled at him for a moment, going very still.

The omega swallowed. “Pills. Lotions. That sort of thing. Very common these days, you know. Not so much back then. I managed. It was easy.”

The alpha sucked in a breath. Pills would explain how he could get away with acting like a petulant beta all the time— there were plenty designed to alter moods and traits in order to make oneself more convincing. They were fairly new. They were controversial. They could change your ability to be affected by others, but not who you were inside. England had  _always_  been an omega, through and through, no matter what he had done to hide it. He’d been living a double life. He’d been  _hurting_  himself.

Did he even truly realize—?

America didn't want to hear anymore.

"You’re an omega." He found himself saying, no other sound but the wind wisping through short, brittle grass.

England was looking at him carefully. “Y- yes.”

"And… your pills have worn off." It wasn’t a question.

The omega glanced away, shame spiking in the air. “Yes.”

"You sweated the lotions off."

Normally England would have snapped at him for his redundancy. He didn't. It was perturbing in a way. “Yes.”

America ran a hand through his hair, feeling sweat and grime for it.

The shorter nation looked at him. “You’re not going to treat me differently now that you know, are you?”

The alpha looked at the omega, and between them passed the knowledge that things had  _already_  changed. They’d crossed into a territory from which one couldn't return. Ignorance had been the key and it was shattered like a glass slipper.

England exhaled a shuddered breath, but said nothing. And they looked away from each other, both awkward and needing some time to think.

 

 

Night was falling.

They’d walked some, but America was no longer happily mocking the other nation for his struggle to keep pace. In fact, now he felt a very real rock of guilt in his gut, even if technically he’d only acted according to what he knew and could smell.

But now there was  _so much more_.

America had recognized instantly when England became too tired to continue, not even having to look at him to scent the weary lag. He’d stopped immediately—almost abruptly—and England had glanced up at him with a tired sort of frustration and an irritated, “What?”

"We’re stopping." America said. There was nothing out here so they’d just have to make due with what they could find.

"Why? The sun’s still up." The omega balked before something in his scent flickered, emotions drifting from full on weariness to torn confusion. America almost laughed aloud but kept it to himself. England wasn’t confused due to the situation or due to America—

He was confused by his own reaction to it. He was confused by the fact that he had protested it. The beta had worn off now, leaving raw, unpracticed omega in its wake.

It was almost cute in a worrying sort of way.

America had to wonder when, exactly, England had last just let himself  _be_  an omega. He had too many questions and not enough answers, but, for the moment, he could tell that the other male needed to rest.

And he needed food.

Revelation or not, America was tired too, but his instincts were hitched up on high and, as he looked at the omega, he knew he was giving off a smell that dared for him to challenge it. “We’re stopping.” He repeated, not bothering to answer the question. England should have known the answer— he  _didn't_ , but he should have.

Normally England would  _try_  to fight with him.

This wasn’t  _normally_.

The omega sagged a little, nodding slightly. “Alright.” He said. It was acceptance and America could scent relief upon him. Was he not even honest with himself? It was dizzying.

They managed to set up a small fire pit with their limited supply. A few rocks were moved for seats and a circle, some kindling was scrapped together, and their packs were resting on the dry dirt. They had some food, just a bit they’d purchased for the road trip before their car had broken down. United States authority thought it best to send them together via vehicle, but without proper communication channels no one would know they were missing for a few days more. It was troublesome, but America hadn't really been bothered by it before.

Now, however, with the knowledge that he had an omega in his care…

"Stop that." England bristled at him from across the fire. The sun was setting and the heat had already dulled down to a chill. It’d get much colder as the night wore on.

The alpha in America stirred, challenged, wanting nothing more than to put the omega in its place. It was different with a beta—he hadn't found that a threat—but an omega? He swallowed back instinct and said, “Stop what?”

"Stop looking at me like I’m some little porcelain doll. I've managed just fine in worse circumstances than this." The smaller male said. His words sounded familiar. They sounded right. They sounded like  _England_.

But the omega scent was sporadic, like a bird that couldn't decide what song it wanted to sing, all caged up in a frantic puff of feathers. There was anxiety there, okay, and then some concern, yes, but after that…

It was all… soft things. Fear of the lonely, nervous sort, like he was worried America might leave him. Discomfort from their circumstances. An exhaustion so deep it was nearly palpable and…

And _longing_. Longing for America to do something about all of this. To make things better. To make him feel better. He looked at England, staring hard, and the omega squirmed as his vision dropped away in embarrassment.

"It’s not what you’re thinking." The island nation breathed out softly. Did he realize that he was making his voice a low, unchallenging purr? "I’m just not used to this. And you’re an alpha. It’s only natural that I…"

He couldn’t even finish that sentence, the words drifting off into silence.

America shifted, looking through his bag now. “And I’m and alpha. It’s only natural that I’m affected too.” He grunted, pulling out a stick of beef jerky and throwing it at England. He was slightly relieved when the other nation had the reflex to catch it.

"Wha—?"

"Eat it."

England glowered lowly. “I don’t need you to coddle me, lad.” He said and, although his voice carried with it a warning tone, that didn’t change the fact that he was unwrapping the little piece of meat all the same, teeth teasing free a sliver of it.

And this his eyelids drooped in this lulled, blissful sort of way and America watched him for a moment before pulling out a little packet of mini donuts for himself. He’d eat one or two—not all of them. They had to ration this stuff, after all.

America had to wonder if England really hadn’t realized that he was low on protein? It was clear as day in his scent. He also required sodium. It was no wonder he’d calmed into silence.

Really, America had to wonder  _a lot_  of things.

Popping one of the white, powdered rings into his mouth, he savored the flavor for a bit before swallowing and indulging in another one. Meanwhile England had finished his own food and was eyeing the packaging in America’s hand.

"You don’t want it." America told him, as though he were speaking to a child.

England’s brow furrowed. “What? Of course I do. I’m hungry.” Irritation flickered in the sea of scent, but it was weak, probably too overwhelmed by the sheer amount of fatigue.

"No, no you really don’t." He said again. It was clear that sweets were the opposite of what his body wanted right now. He’d probably take one bite and feel nauseated.

It seemed England wasn’t about to have any of that. The omega must have reached a breaking point because he stood and stalked over, snatching the small roll of donuts right out of the alpha’s hand.

America felt something in himself bristle but he restrained it.

"We’re stuck out here in your god awful land because  _you_  thought it a good idea to drive in this bloody heat and, omega or not, I am  _not_  going to suddenly lie down at your feet just because of a bit of scent and— and  _pheromones_. I’ve lived far too long to be barked around by some insufferable git of an alpha and—,”

He hadn’t meant to.

It was sudden and fluid and it had taken America by surprise, but something about the frustrating fluctuation of omega scent and the challenging tone and posture and the bitter words had flared to life a feeling in him that he couldn’t control and within moments he had England pinned down into the dirt, his own, larger body pressed low against the omega’s, a hand fisted in his hair and forcing him to bare his throat.

And that visceral roar was still surging through him as he breathed heavily, England painfully still beneath him with wide, bright eyes that couldn’t even dare to look at him.

From here the omega scent was  _so much stronger_  too. It was enough to make him feel slightly drunk. His actions were his own, yes, but they were that of an alpha— that of someone being challenged. He didn’t have a family or an omega, but he knew how one  _did_ and  _did not_  act and currently, despite his position, it was  _England_  that was out of line.

And both of them knew that.

"You don’t want sweets right now, do you?" America said, nearly a growl, his voice a low hum of noise.

England’s lips worked soundlessly for a moment before, “N- no…” It was clear that he was thinking this through, not just saying what America wanted to hear.

America sat up, pulling England with him.

Despite who they were and what they were and who they had been, he shifted them until the omega was half in his lap, leaned against him, and pressed his face low against the other man’s shoulder. His own alpha scent was no longer commanding—ordering a submission—but merely there, exuding a strong presence.

England was stiff for a moment before he relaxed slightly. And then he positively melted into the embrace, his face pressed to America’s neck, inhaling. His entire body seemed to shudder, a primal need to submit satisfied as he leaned limply against the alpha.

Then the air turned to a mellow tang and America’s brow furrowed as he sensed tears long before he smelled the salt and heard the soft whimper.

"Don’t…" England breathed against his neck. "Don’t get too full of yourself." America could have rolled his eyes at that, but he stayed still and quiet. "It’s just been a long time since…"

The alpha lightly ran his hand along the omega’s back, amused by the light shiver that brought forth from the smaller body.

England was crying. It was a subdued kind of cry—the kind from weariness, when the world was just too much and you couldn’t quite handle it anymore. He wasn’t openly upset, just tired, and for that America was careful not to say anything lest he sway the omega into another foul mood. Some part of his mind said that this was progress.

He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

But there was an omega in his arms that required comforting and he was an alpha and it was his job to see to it that he was well and truly comforted. So America nuzzled his shoulder loosely and nipped at the skin along his neck and ran deft fingers up that sweat-damp back until the little sniffles died down into a soft breathing that was very clearly indicative of sleep.

America pulled him close, managing to shift his pack near enough to take out his jacket and drape it across the omega. He also extracted the doughnut pack from the dirt and tossed it into his bag as well, all without moving enough to disturb the omega.

Reclining, he winced at the hard ground against his back, but the soft body leaning atop his own moved closer for warmth and he found himself not minding all that much about the pebbles digging into him.

Careless to the low fire, the sputtering flame dying off from their distraction and neglect, America fell asleep, England cradled against him.

Somehow it was one of the best nights of sleep he had ever gotten.


	2. Chapter 2

While the first day had passed by quickly with the aid of banter, grousing, and general bickering…

The second day had so far been spent in near silence.

It was odd, but although America preferred to have noise and sound and to bother the other nation ceaselessly, if only for his own amusement, he much rather the man be honest about his nature than put up a front as a beta. And, really, now that England’s secret had been revealed, America wasn’t exactly sure  _what_  to say to him.

It felt like being re-introduced and wanting to make a good impression, as silly as that seemed, because for all the years they’d known each other, America had never had the urge to prove his abilities as an alpha and now, suddenly, he did.

And, moreover, after a day of walking in the heat followed by a night spent in the cold, everything punctuated by a lack of food and limited water…

England was beginning to get sick.

It was subtle right now and the alpha would bet the other nation hadn’t even caught on yet, but it was there. His body was being taxed by everything, but the main problem was that now that the pills were pretty much out of his system, he was being completely ambushed by his normal hormones and that  _alone_  was enough to cause his body to suffer a temporary down period. Their situation only exacerbated it.

"Hey." He said, breaking the silence for the first time in nearly an hour.

England looked up at him and America couldn’t help but to find the sight pitiful. He seemed to have slept alright, but there were still stress lines under his eyes and his hair looked frazzled and he had a light sun burn that he’d gotten the day prior despite the sunscreen they’d had on hand. His eyes had this muddied look to them, the color dull, his hair was clinging to his face and neck, and his shirt was dark with sweat. He was even hunched slightly, visibly wilting in the heat.

"I’m going to carry you on my back." He told him, prepared for the explosion this time.

He wasn’t disappointed.

"It’s not even noon! I’m not a child, America— I’m a country and  _your_  ally.” The omega’s emotions were like fireworks now, sporadic and short-lived. It smelled like he was very literally short-circuiting. “Just ignore whatever bloody ideas you have in your head regarding me, because after this little,” he made a gesture, “escapade, we’re going straight back to the way things  _were_.”

But they weren’t. America could never go back. Not when he knew the truth. Even without the scent, the knowledge would be in his mind forever. “England…” He said, cocking his head at the shorter man.

"What!?" The omega snapped, clearly irritable.

Yet he was working himself up into a frenzy for no real reason. America, an alpha, had simply wanted to carry him. If he were even half aware of his own needs, England would have known that accepting the aid was the prudent thing to do. He _had_  to have realized… so that meant he was just being stubborn for no reason. Which was annoying. “You’re tired, aren’t you? We have to keep moving anyway, so just rest for a little while.”

England was bristling, but under the tension there was something soft drifting in and our of his scent.

Nonetheless the challenge was there. The omega was standing tall now, staring him down, and America realized that for someone so clever he certainly didn’t know a single damned thing about how to behave.

For the first time in their very long and rocky relationship, America felt like the parent to England’s child. Omegas weren’t coddled. Omegas didn’t get what they wanted all the time. Omegas were told to stay quiet and low because, in all actuality, that’s what would satisfy them the most in the end. There was a  _need_  to be led and dominated. It was something inherent in their very core.

So it was no surprise at all to America that as he approached him the other male began to falter slightly, resolve weakening as he was overpowered with the heated, angry spice of alpha. America lifted his fingers to the back of the other nation’s neck, watching with fascination as his body trembled, England twitching with the urge to expose his neck despite the fact that he was refusing to do so.

His scent told everything. He was weakening just from that simple press of fingers. The smell in the air fluttered, blissful and airy. He was truly that desperate for an alpha’s touch. America let his hand settle against the soft skin there, kneading it under his fingers.

The effect was instantaneous. England exhaled a soft breath, lashes fluttering as he began to pant. It wasn’t necessarily an aroused reaction, but it was a comforted one. It was one that meant he was beginning to show how he really felt at the moment which was, all in all, not  _well_.

"Let me carry you, okay?" America said again, asking although he knew he had already won, giving the omega the illusion of choice.

England swallowed thickly and nodded. “O- okay…”

 

 

America had thought that carrying another body in this heat would be a pain and, to be fair, he was half right.

His strength was great, sure, but he was definitely working harder now, sweating harder, and his muscles weren’t exactly accustomed to this kind of prolonged strain.

Yet at the same time he found it nearly effortless to keep going, because upon his back was not just England, but  _an omega—_  one who was quite clearly ill now and had very thoroughly passed out not twenty minutes after he had first hefted him up. He was limp against America, one of the bags they had tied around the alpha’s waist while the other was a backpack settled neatly on the omega’s back. Yet even that additional weight didn’t really change the fact that the alpha in him was consumed with England’s feverish scent.

The instinct to protect England won out against everything else. Sure, he would have helped him were he a beta, but not like this— not with this level of unwavering determination. America didn’t just want to see him to safety— he wanted to see the man rested, cared for, fed, hydrated, comforted, and in good spirits.

And that was a far cry from how things had been  _before_.

It was several hours before England stirred again, but when he did it was with a strange shuffling of movement that ended up with the smaller nation rubbing his face against the back of America’s bare neck. The alpha in him brought forth a sudden, strong feeling of fondness and he bit his lip, rather aware of what that particular emotion meant.

He didn’t want to think about that right now, really.

"Feeling better?" He asked, a little out of breath but still moving onward.

The omega made a soft noise, still pressing his face to the damp skin of the alpha. “Mmm… smellsgooood…” He slurred, half-asleep.

"Oh?" America couldn’t help the pleased little blossom in his chest.

"Mmmhmm…"

"What’s it smell like, hm?"

A sigh. A blissful one. It was quite evident that England was totally out of it. “Like… Like sandalwood.”

America felt his brow furrow at the peculiar interpretation. It was true that everyone’s nose differed, so no two omega’s would think him to smell the same, but as a beta England had told him that he smelled like cheap food, hair product, and fake leather. Sandalwood sounded far more appealing than that. So that meant that he really did take pills to dull his senses into that of a beta’s. “Sandalwood, huh?” He said softly— gentle. “That’s sounds pretty nice.”

"Yeah…" The omega shifted closer, nosing at the hair at the nape of his neck. America resisted the urge to shake at the strange, ticklish sensation.

"How’re you feeling?" He tried again.

England didn’t answer at all this time.

That was okay though, because he was indulging in something small and meaningful and uniquely  _omega_  and America thought he deserved at least that much even if normally he couldn’t admit to it. “Whatcha doin’ there, buddy?” He asked.

And then England began to gnaw slightly at his skin, lapping at the salt and sweat, and America felt a shiver go right up his spine as he just barely kept from making a motion that would end up with the omega sprawled out on his ass.

"H- hey…" The alpha swallowed, heart thudding in his chest as teeth teased his skin. This wasn’t a dominating act, like it would have been if England were an alpha. No this was…

This was something quite a bit more complex, but at its core it was an omega so needy for the scent mark of an alpha that he would begin to suckle at one’s skin, like a baby might to its father, coaxing it to give off more pheromone for the sake of one’s own comfort.

England was quite literally marking himself as belonging to America.

And… he found himself unable to stop this process for several reasons, simply standing there in stunned silence. For one, England’s body would do much better with the reassurance and the comfort that that would bring him. Secondly, he was sick, so stopping him just seemed cruel when it was fairly likely that, were America to try carrying him again, he would just attempt it once more. And third…

Third was simply the fact that right now his alpha instincts were preening and giddy and over the moon about the fact that the omega he was interested in had just done something that, in any other circumstance, would have been extremely indicative of a high possibility to successfully mate and bond.

The gentle feeling of tongue and teeth was mesmerizing though, all things considered. America wanted to continue walking, but his feet felt like lead, holding him firm to the spot. He hoped it would stop—prayed, really—but it didn’t.

So he wasn’t surprised at all when his will snapped like a brittle twig.

He managed to lower England carefully onto the grass, tugging the backpack off of him before settling him down much to the confusion of hazy, verdant eyes that peered up at him with a veil of uncomprehending curiosity. The omega’s cheeks were flushed, breath slightly short, and there was arousal on him, thick and sweet like a blanket.

America hovered over him, staring, and England looked back at him, tipping his head languidly in an easy, submissive motion. It was both to appease him and invite him, whichever it managed to do, and America’s chest burned with a strange heat as he leaned down to nip at the soft skin beneath one of his ears.

England keened and arched up, turning his head to give America more access, and it was hard to process that this was the same man that but three days prior had practically bitched at him just for breathing air. It had seemed as though his every action annoyed the Englishman, so the panting and the sudden, soft moans were painfully uncharacteristic…

And yet… they fit. They were  _real_. They completed the picture that was England. It made sense. It made sense it a way that was very difficult to understand.

Sighing slightly to himself, he decided that he would indulge England’s selfishness, if only because he really did deserve a little  _something_. Huffing a short laugh, he murmured into his ear, “I’m going to scent you just this once, okay?”

The omega’s emotions shifted from curious and aroused to eager and anticipatory and that was all the answer America needed as he went about the task of thoroughly coating the other nation with his own alpha scent. It was a painstaking process, but an enjoyable one— something mates did whenever they had been separated long enough for the omega to smell without an alpha. For all intents and purposes, to a stranger England would appear America’s mate without question. It wouldn’t last forever, certainly, and a good shower with a special sort of soap would get rid of it, but for now it would help England and if that was what the omega wanted then that was what America was gonna give him.

Because it’d always been this way, hadn’t it?

Their selfish indulgences warring with each other, traded back and forth over time, little battles of will and give and take. England’s desire for a colony and America’s desire for recognition…

But now was not the time for wandering thoughts.

Leaning in, America teased his canine tooth against the skin of the omega’s neck, England keening softly under him, until eventually he managed to just barely puncture the skin. He lapped up the blood, his saliva reacting with the wound and the taste making his senses stir. It was no mating mark, but it would make what he was about to do  _stick_  as both of their bodies prepared for it, his own mass producing a claiming smell as England’s scent latched onto it like a vice. 

Pressing down against the omega gently, he lapped at his cheeks and his neck, tasting the salt of sweaty, sick skin. He didn’t even feel aroused by this, really. It felt far more dutiful and responsible than that, even if the omega  _was_  arching up against him, those slim fingers caught in his damp shirt. He rubbed the sides of his face against him until there was no mistaking America’s role as  _his_  alpha.

And now for the tricky part…

He didn’t exactly want to undress the omega, but it wouldn’t be very thorough without  _some_  skin to skin contact, even if England was clad in only a tank top and shorts. Shifting against him, America let his hands wander up the cloth of his shirt, lifting the fabric there to nuzzle at that too thin stomach with his cheek. Most reasonably accessible scent was concentrated in the face and neck, so doing this would have the highest efficiency without being inappropriate. His hands wandered the rest of his torso, even slipping underneath the other nation to rub at his back.

He wasn’t going to go overboard, but his knee pressed up between the omega’s thighs and England moaned and he felt a quiet tremor of  _something_  in his chest before he pulled away for good, studying the panting, flushed mess of an omega sprawled on the ground.

"I just did this for you." America told him, although he knew deep down that he had enjoyed it as well—  _continued to enjoy it_ , even. England smelled like his mate now, even if he wasn’t, and that was satisfying in a really base, instinctive way.

Yet after years of pining, this felt too much like tempting fate, because in his mind there was this little  _taste_  of what he had always wanted…

But what would happen once England got his pills and his lotions back? What would happen once he went back to his old, normal self? What would happen once he hid the  _real_  him away again?— the him that had needs and desires and emotions that he ignored.

America pushed those thoughts out of his mind, instead helping England to his feet and noting with amusement and some concern that he seemed to waver slightly.

It didn’t take long to get the omega situated on his back again, but this time England just slumped against him with the full weight of his body almost immediately, so relaxed and calm and contented that it ebbed the sick smell down into something tolerable and far less stressed. He didn’t seem nearly so on edge and tense anymore and that was a very good first step. Now that his body had been cleansed of the toxic emotions, his hormones would settle and he’d heal better because, nation or not, they tended to have very human recovery cycles. They just happened to live a lot longer in order to see that kind of thing through.

Somehow the next few hours passed in a contented, comfortable silence and it was only once the alpha stopped to rest for the night that he realized that maybe marking England as he had had been beneficial for himself too…

He started another fire, but this time he let the omega be, despite the fact that he needed food, because England had dipped in and out of consciousness all day but for the moment he looked thoroughly dead to the world, resting peacefully now that they weren’t moving anymore.

Looking down at the man he had propped up against his chest, jacket draped over him for warmth now that the chill was creeping in, America carded his fingers through that tousled, silky hair and smiled softly to himself at the gentle, temporary mingling of scents on the omega’s skin.

When England finally stopped being so out of it, he was probably going to murder him for this.


	3. Chapter 3

America awoke to a slap to the face

The alpha jerked into a sitting position, alert and alarmed as a heated stinging made his cheek throb. Looking up, he was both surprised and not to see England standing over him, although admittedly the omega had backed away from him now, a guarded distance between them.

"What the hell was that for!?" He found himself yelling, not thinking, brain sleep addled and temper rising. It was usually difficult to truly piss America off, but this was one of those rare times where he was more quick to the emotion, the vulnerability of sleep one that already made him antsy as it were these days.

The omega was completely undaunted, his scent potent and angry like a bundle of hissing snakes. “You bloody moron, you  _marked_  me! I was out of my mind and you fucking  _marked_ me!  _How dare you!”_  England was glaring at him, shaking with a wealth of emotions.

Namely anger and betrayal.

As though America had done it to be possessive or malicious…

England may have thought he was out of it before, but he was working himself up in a terrible way now. At this rate he’d get overwhelmed and relapse, negating any progress he’d made towards getting better.

So America pulled himself up onto his feet and walked over to the other male. England must have sensed something was off—probably because of his deliberate step or his set expression—because the omega backed away slightly, although luckily he wasn’t stupid enough to try outright running.

All it took was a single motion and the alpha had his hand latched at the back of the omega’s neck. He gave him a sudden and startling jerk and England yelped, the tension fleeing from him as his muscles all went loose at once, obedient.

America released him again. “Calm down.”

England’s head was bowed, tears already beading in his eyes. The alpha hated that, but it was natural at this rate. And it was far better than the chaotic whirlwind of emotions he had been before. The omega sniffled and rubbed at an eye. “I hate this.” He gritted, voice thick with emotion.

"England…" America said slowly, looking at him. "Do you remember _why_  I marked you?”

The omega stilled. It was telling.

"You  _needed_  it.”

"I didn’t." England retorted, petulant like a child presented with vegetables instead of sweets. "I would have gotten better without it."

America didn’t say anything, because they both knew that the marking had expedited the process immensely. Still, there was some good to all of this. England  _had_  accepted the mark, so that meant that he’d be a bit more compliant and easier to manage now.

And, moreover, he’d feel a lot better for it too, pissed off or not. Being an omega without a pack was a very distressing thing and, as nations, it wasn’t like they had families to fall back on.

And luckily America didn’t have to work nearly so hard to comfort him either. Stepping forward, he gently guided the omega into his arms, and England accepted the invitation albeit begrudgingly.

"I’m not your mate." He said.

"I know."

The omega pressed his face into America’s shirt, the cloth stale with sweat and dirt. “I hate this.” He repeated. His scent said otherwise.

"Okay." America lightly massaged the back of his neck, slightly chuckling as England nearly  _purred_.

An omega felt best when with its alpha. Right now that’s what America was to him, after all.

 _His_  alpha.

 

 

After making sure England had something for breakfast—a couple mini-donuts and a small packet of crackers, albeit it wasn’t ideal—they continued on again. This time the nation insisted on walking on his own, which was fine with America because his muscles were a little sore from having had to carry him the day prior.

He had expected silence to be their companion again today, but it seemed that the omega following after him had other plans.

"America?"

The alpha glanced back, curious. “Yeah?”

England still looked sick, but he was noticeably more alert and energetic than he had been the day before. “I’m still the same person I was before, you realize.”

The larger nation exhaled a soft noise that wasn’t quite a laugh. “What’s that now?”

"I’m still who I was. I haven’t changed." England established firmly, holding his ground now and forcing America to stop as well in order to turn and look at him. "I may not be a beta, but I’m still the same."

America watched him for a moment, the air between them slightly tense as the sun beat down from on high. “I know.” He admitted and the omega began to look relieved, but then he added, “I just never knew who you were before.”

England faltered, turning a touch pale, and then he swallowed.

It was true. The nation had been lying all this time. Not only to the others, or America, but to himself. The alpha wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to realize that.

"You can’t do this." England breathed. "You can’t treat me this way when we— after all of this—…" The omega’s eyes were wild and his scent was frantic, if a little haunted, sort of like a scared rabbit. "Everyone will notice. They’ll find out—,"

"Is that really so bad!?"

The sudden feeling of shouting startled America because he hadn’t even realize how tensed he was, but as the words left him and dissolved into the wide, open sky of the prairie, he knew that they were what he had wanted to say all along.

England stared at him, speechless.

And then he found his voice again and the omega bristled. “Yes!” He said. The yell tore from his throat with an agonized sort of desperation. “Yes, it truly is! You have no clue— no  _bloody_  clue—!”

As the smaller nation approached, America let him fist his hands into the front of the alpha’s shirt, angry and snarling.

"You’re an alpha! You can’t possibly understand— and yet you  _do_  but you just won’t listen! I don’t want to  _be_  an omega! I don’t want to  _be_  coddled! Not even my own boss realizes and— and I would never have gotten anywhere if I had done as other omegas have! But I was great once and the whole world knows it—  _feared it_. I don’t want to be limited by my type—… I don’t—…” His rant trickled off, his words having become less and less heated until they finally faded into silence. England’s body was shaking with… with  _something_ , but he wasn’t exactly crying or angry.

He was  _upset_  but not angry.

America gently loosened England’s fists from the front of his shirt. He lifted his hand up, running fingers down the side of the omega’s hair and behind an ear. The smaller man shivered and made a soft, pleased noise, although it rather looked like he hadn’t wanted to react to it at all.

Still, he was relaxing. His body recognized America as its authority.

"I agree with you." He told him quietly, watching as those troubled eyes darted up to look at him.

"Then why—?"

"I don’t want to see you in pain anymore."

England slumped slightly, head pulled in and expression clouded. “This isn’t about me. I’m  _England._  I have to—,”

"To what?" America asked, genuinely curious. "To conquer? Because I hate to break it to you, but that age is long over, babe."

The omega wrinkled his nose at the nickname. “No, I… You understand how the other omegas are treated, don’t you?”

America’s lip twitched. “You know what I think?”

England rather looked like he didn’t  _want_  to know. “What?” The omega ventured anyway, curiosity about him.

"I think you underestimate them." He hummed, stroking behind the smaller man’s ear again. "They’re not weak. I don’t know why you keep acting like they are. Finland does alright for himself. The Italy brothers are, well, you know."

"I don’t  _need_  a keeper.” England hissed.

"Is that what you think they have?" America asked him, blinking.

The smaller nation’s brow furrowed. “Yes. Of course. Finland’s even mated.” He said stiffly. “I don’t need that. I don’t need to be looked after. You keep on like I can just drop this act and become an omega.” Those deep green eyes were boring into him. “There’s  _power_  in charming an omega, lad.” England snapped, reaching up to snag the wrist of the hand that the alpha was using to pet his hair.

America stared at him and then a strange little grin started to sneak onto his face. The omega noticed it, looking agitated.

"What?"

"England… when’s the last time you lived as an omega? I mean  _really_  lived as one?”

"… It was…" The man faltered, thinking, and then he frowned, "a very long time ago."

The alpha’s eyes glimmered, his own brows quirking up in sheepish amusement. “I can’t just  _charm_  you. It doesn’t work like that.” He was having trouble not laughing.

England balked, “Then how do you explain—,”

"Do you have feelings for me right now?"

The omega’s eyes went impossibly wide, his face turning bright red. “I can’t help it! You put your mark on me and—,”

The alpha pressed a finger to England’s lips, leaning down with a coy smile as the omega went quiet. “Fathers put marks on their children, too. It doesn’t mean anything other than that we’re of the same pack— and that’s only for so long as it stays there.” He explained carefully, wondering how in god’s name the older nation didn’t understand this. “If you have feelings for me— that’s all _you_. Those are  _yours_.”

Standing upright, America had to bite his tongue to keep from giggling as England’s entire face, neck, and ears turned positively  _scarlet_.

An elated feeling pooled in his chest.

 

 

It was starting to rain.

That, in and of itself, wasn’t so bad. It was simply the fact that the temperature had dropped down a little low for America’s liking and the rain that pelted them was chilled and icy. They were both soaked through and, while that didn’t really bother the alpha, his concern was very much set on the omega that plodded along behind him.

Just because England had been getting  _better_  didn’t mean that he couldn’t also get  _worse_ , and it unsettled him to think that maybe he could end up as ill as before if not more so.

Omegas weren’t built sturdy, simply put. It was unfortunate, but it was true. Alphas were the defensive line—the providers—but omegas were supposed to keep to children and nests and things like that. If you wanted to get technical, it was because their immune systems couldn’t handle the strain.

So when America had spotted an abandoned barn in the distance, he nearly whooped as he tugged England after it.

It was a peculiar structure considering that, as far as he could see, there was no house nearby and thus no inhabitants within said house to lend them aid. It had been painted red at one point, but that color was now a dirty brown as it chipped off of old wood. He pushed open the dilapidated door, peering inside. It wasn’t in the best shape, but it wasn’t about to collapse either.

They’d be fine in here.

England was looking around, shivering and appearing for all the world like a drenched cat. He hadn’t even protested the stop here and America had been grateful for it, because, if he had had to explain to the omega  _why_  it was smart to get out of the rain, then he would have given up entirely.

At any rate, first things first. “Take off your clothes.”

England gave a delightful little squawk, whirling to look at him with wide eyes.

America just stared back at him with a parental grin. “You’re soaked. If you stay like that you’re going to get sick for  _real_  this time. Just strip down— you don’t have to go all the way, but I can get you warmed up pretty quickly and your stuff needs to dry anyway.”

The omega was glowering at him. “I don’t need you to dote on me. How many times do I have to tell you that before you’ll listen? Are your ears so very filled with wax that my words cannot reach your brain? It would explain quite a lot…”

"When I was little and got caught out in the rain…" America drawled, "What did you do?"

It was a very leading question. England’s glower only deepened. “Now is not then, boy.”

"You’re right. Now it’s  _you_  that needs taking care of, whether you like it or not. Look, you’re obviously freezing. Just strip already.”

"No!"

He’d been lenient. He’d been kind. He’d been patient. He’d held back again and again. America was quickly growing tired of this game and his alpha instincts were rumbling with displeasure. He exhaled a soft growl.

The omega stiffened, looking at him like a prey animal might a predator.

"… F- fine."

The acquiescence had come so easily and so suddenly that America almost felt like he had emotional whiplash for a moment, the alpha in him smoothing over its ruffled feathers if only just. He was still agitated, but at least England was listening to him finally.

As the omega went for his clothes, America started to shirk his own as well.

Hanging his wet garments over an old stall door, the alpha felt a purr of satisfaction at the scent of arousal that sang sweetly in the air. He hadn’t been looking at England, but it sure seemed that England had been looking at  _him_.

The omega was so blind to his own signals that it was actually becoming somewhat adorable in a sort of fumbling way. It was now almost painfully obvious that the smaller male had very intense and very real feelings for him— ones that had been there before, perhaps not dormant but nowhere near as strong. If he’d dulled his senses to a beta’s, then the attraction would have still been there but… different.

Betas were always logical and grounded and oh so very  _boring_.

But America wasn’t about to tease England for it, because he knew that would only result in the other man being stubborn about what was to come next. Glancing over, he saw that they were both clad only in their underwear now— England boxers and America briefs, humorously. The alpha gave him an obvious once over, frowning at his stomach but admiring his soft, lean legs. How had he never realized that England was an omega before? His frame was too slight and his hips jutted just slightly in a way that bespoke of fertility. With a bit more weight on and perhaps better eating habits in general, he’d be nothing short of a catch.

"Alright, let me guess—," The alpha drawled, and England visibly went rigid as though the younger nation were about to call him out on his very apparent attraction, "you’re still cold, huh?"

England faltered, blinked, and then cocked his head. “Yes. Of course.” He said as though it were obvious, which it was. “I haven’t dried off yet.”

Even if he did, the air was a bit nippy. Not as bad as at night, but…

"Come here." America told him, watching as the omega regarded him warily but approached, stopping a good distance away "No, no— closer."

England tried again and America gave up, striding forward and snagging the man’s wrist. Pulling him over to a musty pile of hay, the alpha flopped down onto it and took his companion with him. As prickly and itchy as the old stuff would be, they’d both experienced far worse, and he was actually pleasantly surprised when he realized it smelled sweet and fresh and maybe this old barn wasn’t so abandoned after all.

Although why any of this was here at all was really none of his concern.

No, the omega that leaned up to scowl at him, wet and livid and now with hay sticking to him— that was his top priority.

"Calm down. I’m just gonna warm you up and bit and when the rain stops we can start moving again, alright?" He said, the the dim lighting in the old building giving everything a soft, muted glow. "It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to."

Shit.

He hadn’t entirely been thinking when he’d said that, but the look that flashed across England’s face spoke  _volumes_. There was something antsy and anxious in the smaller man’s scent now, confusingly exhilarated. England was so easy to read that it was almost pitiful. America had just implied that it _could_  mean something if he wanted it to and that was revealing a good deal more than he had meant to

"America, you…?"

The alpha glanced up at him, still reclined back in the hay even as the omega loomed over him, sitting upright. “I thought how I felt about you would have been obvious by now.” He said, his gaze never wavering.

"You’re just saying that now because I’m an ome—,"

"No." He cut him off, "I’m saying it because it’s always been that way. Even when you were a beta. It’s just  _more_  now.” And most omegas would have read the signs, but no— England always had that funny little habit of being difficult.

"This is inappropriate." England announced suddenly, tense and not looking at him. "We can’t be involved in this way."

America smiled at the side of his head, aware that the other man would see it in his peripheral vision. “You don’t want me to be your alpha?” He said, tone so composed and casual that England jerked to look at him.

They stared at each other for a few moments before the omega looked away again. At least he knew some basic social cues. “That’s rushing things. I don’t know what I want.” England said quietly. He was relenting. He was tried and sick and bogged down with years of hiding and he was slowly but surely relenting.

"Let’s pretend." America told him, letting his hand reach out to run his fingers along the side of England’s arm. "Just for today. Just for right now." He wasn’t sure why he was suggesting this. It was foolish. But once the idea had hit him it had done so with a very thorough ferocity.

"This is a bad idea." England breathed, but he had no energy left to fight it.

"Yeah, it is." America agreed.

Somehow placated by that admission, the omega shifted slightly, easing down to curl up at the alpha’s side, resting his head against the muscle right beneath America’s collarbone. The larger nation wrapped an arm around him and pressed him close, turning a little to make the position more intimate as England’s head shifted to lean on his upper arm. He had already freed his thankfully dry jacket from his bag before all of this, so it took no effort at all to pull it over the two of them.

As he stroked England’s hair with his free hand, they fell into a calm and peaceful lull, nestled there together comfortably. It seemed things were going well. They could have this little piece of it all—try it out, so to speak—and then decide later what it was they wanted to do, for now content with the shared warmth and the quiet thud of their rapidly beating hearts.

Or… so America had thought, up until the point where England tipped his head, the omega’s lips deliberately grazing his own.


	4. Chapter 4

"England, what are you—,"

"Quiet, love." The omega breathed against his lips. "I’m playing _pretend_.”

America stilled, barely breathing as the warm body in his arms shifted again. He could feel England inhale against the skin of his cheek, taking in his scent. He could feel him indulging the most base of desires as he pulled back slightly, barely an inch between their lips.

An omega wasn’t dominating. An omega didn’t instigate. They could tease and flirt a little, like England had so very successfully done just now, but they didn’t start things. It was courtship, as old as time itself, and here was this little omega, doing so well for it despite all that so-called ignorance.

The alpha wasted no time leaning in to capture the other’s lips in a firm kiss.

England went limp at that. A good kind of limp. The kind that was pliant and yielding and oh-so- _natural_  and it was a feverish feeling to clutch that damp, chilled body to his own heated one, knowing that this was England of all nations.

Hell, America hadn’t even had time to draw up suitable fantasies of himself with his little, wayward crush as an omega— they were all creative, much less interesting imaginings involving the man as a beta.

Not that those hadn’t had their own appeal, but the truth was just so much  _better_  than all of that.

America pressed in and, suddenly, there were tongues and teeth and taste and England moaned softly as his honeyed mouth was plundered and ravished, the alpha wasting no time memorizing every crevice and tooth and even the distinct, soft texture of his tongue. And all the while the omega let him, deftly welcoming the wet appendage with gentle, coy strokes, not pushing back, but instead mingling with it.

When they broke apart they were both panting heavily and America was fairly certain that they were also both painfully aroused. The hay absorbed the scent they were putting off, like a nest might, and it made him feel drunk as he licked his lip and teased the omega’s jawline with his teeth.

"America…" England said, sounding breathless.

The look on his face was sinful and, suddenly, America knew exactly what other alphas meant when they casually mentioned being unable to resist their omega’s bedroom eyes. It was like being hypnotized and it reminded America very much of the fact that power was a two way street.

The omega worried a lip and he found himself unable to look away as that kiss flushed peach was worked beneath a pearly tooth. “When we… When we get back… they’ll all know, won’t they?”

America blinked, sobering slightly. He had thought maybe England would lose himself to the moment, but… this wasn’t a frenzied heat. It was merely a hesitantly intimate moment between two allies.

He sighed, making himself comfortable and trying to ignore the tightness in his briefs.

"Yeah. Probably." America admitted. He’d already thought about this a lot. The humans that picked them up would know— it would spread to their bosses. There was nothing they could do about that. It would be impossible to get England his pills and soaps and then, what, have him sit in confinement for a few days until all trace of omega was gone?

England made a soft noise of distress that sounded odd from his throat, distinctly omega as it was, and the alpha peppered his face with little butterfly kisses until the other man swatted at him. “Prat.”

"Mhm." America hummed, not at all ashamed.

"You’re young." England began, and America looked up at him, hoping this wasn’t a conversation that would annoy him, because he often found himself irritated when England brought up his age or lack thereof. "You haven’t seen them— the alphas, I mean. The way they were in the old days when they caught scent of a new omega."

America felt a small, squirming feeling of alarm.

"They bickered and fought over who would take who as though those countries had no thoughts of their own. You mention Spain now, but you didn’t see him then. Oh sure, things panned out alright I suppose, but all the same…"

So England had hidden himself.

He’d prevented himself from being reduced to a bobble or trinket, perhaps inadvertently participating in that game himself. America wondered if he realized the irony but wisely kept his mouth shut.

The omega glanced up at him.

"I know we… we haven’t always gotten along." England said slowly.

America perked, suddenly extremely interested in that soft little inflection that foretold the asking of a favor.

"I know things will change after this. I know. I couldn’t hide it forever." Hopeful emerald glimmered at him. "I was wondering if…" He faltered, swallowed, and then tried again. "I- if you… wouldn’t mind my keeping your mark. For now. Just for now. Until the world settles. I- I don’t mind as much if they think I’m… I’m yours." His pale cheeks were flushing red. "I prefer that to the frenzy they’ll work themselves up into fighting over me…"

The alpha was slightly dubious, yet the possessive heat that rolled through him was hard to ignore and he pressed his forehead to England’s. “You know that could take years, don’t you?”

The omega exhaled a soft sigh with something akin to resignation. “I know.”

 

 

The rain stopped a few hours after they had arrived, but they didn’t notice for an hour or so more as the both of them had fallen into a more restful sleep than they had gotten the night before, cushioned by the soft hay. When  _did_  wake, they smelled of each other and the dry stalks they’d been lying upon.

The two nations walked for several hours, but with each one that passed the omega began to lag. He was underfed and dehydrated by this point, but he diligently kept onward, waving off and deflecting America’s concern time and time again.

That was, until he collapsed.

It had been sudden and unexpected the wind blowing in America’s face and whipping the omega’s scent away from him, but he heard a sudden thud from behind and, when he reeled around, it was to the horrifying sight of England’s limp body on the harsh dirt.

It had all been too much for him.

The heat was still beating down on them and the water bottles had been empty for a while now, even though they’d managed to catch some of the rain from earlier. Things weren’t looking so well, all in all, but they were almost there. Just twelve or so more hours of walking. That’s all that was left if his senses were correct. And then they could get a nice shower, some food, and, more than anything, something to drink.

So, determined, he picked the smaller man up and positioned him to be carried again, driven to anxiousness by the sweat of sickness that had clung to him for a while now. His scent was a kaleidoscope of need, but mostly that relating to food and dehydration. It pained America greatly that, at this point, almost any selection would do for a meal— he was low on everything.

At the thought of food his own stomach growled, but America forced himself not to linger on that gnawing hunger and continued on.

Night fell over them, but England never woke so the alpha never stopped moving. The sky was slightly cloudy, but the moon was bright enough that he could see a short distance. As long as he knew the direction they needed to go, he could keep walking given that he was careful and didn’t slip. The last thing the omega needed now was to be dropped.

Eventually he stumbled across a road and dragged them both up the short incline in order to walk along it. The car had broken down in the middle of literally nowhere, but this was hard, crisp asphalt and that meant that someone, somewhere, would eventually drive down it. Hopefully he could get them a ride back, but if not then at least he didn’t have to worry as much about stepping into a hole.

And so time passed like that, nothing but the grime of their tired bodies, the moon, and the frigid night air. Sometimes he’d catch the soft sounds of animals amongst the gentle thrum of crickets and other insects. Normally this arrangement would have struck him as peaceful, but he was too exhausted to give it any appreciation, whether or not it brought out memories in him of long nights under the stars with only a few bags and a horse for company.

The land was so flat that he could see the glimmer of the city in the distance. It was a dull light, but was there. How much longer now? Ten hours? Eight?

Exhaustion was beginning to creep into his senses, omega on his back or not. The past few days had been a storm of stress with only a few pockets of peace and his resolve for the lot of it was weakening.

So when he heard the sound of an engine approaching them from behind, hope flared to life in his chest like a wildfire. As long as that person would stop to help them— he didn’t even care how shady they might be. He could protect England. He was more than capable of that.

The vehicle was an old, faded teal-colored pick up truck and it slowed until it finally stilled just a short distance from them, the driver leaning out the side window. “Hey, y’all need a ride?” Came a heavily accented voice. America could smell the alpha from here, but god bless him right down to his completely unnecessary straw hat.

"Yeah— that’d be great!" He called, his own voice raw due to his painfully dry throat.

The alpha in the truck blinked, catching the wind, and immediately hopped out of the still-running vehicle. “Christ, boy, that one ain’t doin’ so well. Here.” He opened the passanger side door for him, stepping forward to help him unload England.

A growl sprung to America’s throat before he could even think about what he was doing and the other alpha stepped back.

"Sorry— didn’t mean no harm there."

America calmed but didn’t apologize. It was the other man that had acted out of turn, after all. You didn’t approach someone else’s omega if its alpha was around. That was just begging for trouble.

Approaching one _without_  its alpha being around meant you had better have a damn good reason for it, but that was neither here nor there.

With a bit of a struggle, he managed to get England situated on the seat without jostling him overly much, extracting their bags and throwing them into the back of the truck. Sliding in after the omega, he positioned himself between England and the other alpha.

The other man watched, ready to help if needed, but when America got in so did he, hopping back into the driver’s seat with a soft whumph.

"How long’ve you two been out here?" The man said as he began to drive.

"Three days." America told him.

The man whistled. “That’d do it, then. He smells like death, though. Wan’ me t’ drop you off at the hospital?”

"Yeah, that’d be great." England wouldn’t die from this, no, but for an omega he was in alarmingly bad shape and the fact that he hadn’t woken up for hours now was only further emphasizing that. Heat could do terrible things to you on its own, everything else aside…

"Should only be about an hour now." The other alpha told him. It was music to his ears. "Still can’t believe you two were out there that long. We’ve been havin’ a heat wave and I’ll admit I dun’ even wanna go out ‘n it but a job’s a job, y’know?" The alpha sniffed shortly and paused. "He your mate or—?"

"… Something like that." America said.

The alpha exhaled a bark of laughter. “Soundin’ so uncertain is unalpha-like.” He said. “Y’ either wan’ him t’ be or y’ don’t.”

Ah. Old fashioned. You choose an omega and, as long as you were strong enough, it’s guaranteed to you. England thought he didn’t know about these things because the nations had had centuries to mellow out and become something akin to  _civil_. Then again, the omega had the bad habit of forgetting just how many people America managed. There were all sorts here and he’d seen it all.

Really, it was _England_  who seemed blind to it, so scared of being himself that he apparently had blocked out information regarding what was proper and normal. It was one thing to not have the information, but England  _did_  have it in the form of his own people. The only reasonable explanation was that he had just blinded himself willingly— plugged his ears and sang until the world just stopped trying…

"Yeah. He’s my mate." America corrected, the alpha to his side giving a pleased hum.

There was something tense and unspoken in the air. Something like, ‘Really? Then you should have taken better care of him…’ But the alpha at his side wasn’t dumb enough to say that kind of thing aloud and America was too tired to be upset by it. In another circumstance he might have agreed, but this wasn’t exactly what the man thought it was so it wasn’t his fault he’d gone off and misunderstood.

 

 

The hospital staff had had a bit of a fit when he’d brought England in. It wasn’t every day you had a half-starved, dehydrated omega with heat stroke on your hands. Where he’d had exposed skin was sunburned, too. Sure, he’d heal quickly enough since he was a nation, but for a human that kind of condition would have been far more severe. Either way, he let the hospital staff treat him as though his life was in danger because explaining otherwise would do more harm than good.

And, besides, he wanted England to get the best care possible.

Some strings were pulled, one phone call boosting them up from random civilians to VIPs, and he’d managed to get a shower and a spare set of generic clothes to wear while his own were washed.

You’d think that after everything they had been through, he would be eager for a nice bed and some shut eye, but he was too tense for that. Being separated from the omega now felt like something akin to a prickling unease and, once he was at his side, he sat there diligently and waited.

He needn’t wait very long.

His own personal guard had flown out in a helicopter and America would bet anything that his boss and England’s boss were probably both in a frenzy at this point. When the man in the crisp, black suit entered the hospital room looking fairly stressed and more than a little frazzled, America gave him a knowing look.

His discrete little go-between. They never used names with each other, so it was unsurprising when he stalked into the room with a frantic, “Are you alright, sir?”

Was he a little unprofessional? Maybe. But that was why America liked him. “Yeah, we’ll be okay. Just a little worn out.”

"I understand." The man said, sounding grave. "We’ll retrieve your vehicle and—,"

A sudden silence fell upon the room. America had known this was coming. He felt the side of his lip quirk up at the unspoken question. “Yeah, I know.” He said.

His guard jerked into a more alert stance, hiding his own personal reaction behind that of authority. “You mean to tell me that he is really an omega, sir?”

"It’s easier to hide as a beta than it is to posture as an omega, right?" America said, looking up at him from the chair pulled to England’s bedside.

"Permission to ask a personal question, sir?"

"Shoot."

The guard frowned and stepped closer. Then he stopped, realizing how stupid an approach like that would be right now. “Why has he been marked by you?”

America turned in his seat, leaning on the armrest as he caught the man’s eyes and help contact, making him aware of just how serious all of this was. “He’s mine.”

The other alpha nodded, glancing away and reestablishing the nation’s status as the dominant one in the room. “I understand, sir.”

America looked at him for a long moment, a slow, predatory smile creeping its way onto his face. “You’re going to put this in your report, aren’t you?”

"Well it’s proper protocol to—,"

"Good." America turned back to England, leaning forward to brush the bangs out of the omega’s eyes with gentle fingers. He could feel the guard’s eyes boring into him, questioning.

He smiled to himself, aware of the mischief they were about to take part in. He and England in a game against the world…

And the first move was his.

"Please make sure that everyone knows," He said slowly, words feral, possessive, and deliberate, "that Great Britain belongs to me."

 

 

End

 


End file.
